Free The Ties That Bind by Andi Marquette Page B

until she turned the corner. I then examined the front porch, checking the security door--for what, I didn't know. Clumps of dog fur? I scanned the corners. No, no telltale Milkbones. I checked the front windows. What the hell am I looking for? I stood staring at the wood of the porch floor, chewing my lip. My rational brain had two explanations. One, a dog bumping against the security door and scratching at it, trying to get in. Maybe scratching at the window. Two, a person trying to get in. Or trying to get our attention. But why?
    I turned and looked across the street. I had seen something disappear over there the night before. A moving shadow. No person I knew of could move that fast. Down the steps, around Sage's car, across the street, neighbor's yard. All in the amount of time it took to flip the light on and open the curtains. So...back to animal. Maybe a small dog and it darted under Sage's car. Or mine. Then it went across the street. Or maybe what I saw moving across the street was a second animal. When Sage turned the porch light on, the second animal startled. The first, meanwhile, bailed to an immediate neighbor's yard.
    I ran a hand through my hair and replayed the incident in my mind. On a hunch, I rapped lightly on the window to my right with my knuckles. No way in hell that sounded like a dog scratching on glass. I knocked on the security door with my knuckles and then my fingertips. Even if a dog snuffled around the door and bumped against it, those sounds were not what we heard, which was knocking. My rational explanations hit a dead end.
    Okay, how about irrational? For shits and giggles? I went through all the ghost stories and supernatural phenomena I'd come across over the years. Poltergeists? Nah. Those usually manifested as a series of events over a long period of time. Frustrated, I entered the house and locked the security door, leaving the front door open. I turned on my computer and while it warmed up, I went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee then returned to my office. I set my cup on the coaster I kept next to the monitor and opened my Web browser.
    I started with "tommyknocker," though I was pretty sure that's not what I was looking for. Of course, here I was looking ghosts up on the Internet. At this point, who knew what I was thinking? I clicked on a site that looked like it might tell me more about tommyknockers and read through the information. Early nineteenth-century Cornish miners brought the superstition of the tommyknockers to the United States. Little green spirit dudes dressed up like miners who allegedly knocked on the walls of mine shafts just before a cave-in. Miners debated whether the knocking was helpful or portentous. Did tommyknockers ever leave the mines? I scrolled through a couple more pages. Apparently not.
    I sat back in my chair, aware of how ridiculous this was. I'm looking up ghosts on the Internet . What the hell is wrong with this picture? Next thing you know I'll be down in Roswell waiting for the mothership . What would the neighbors think if they saw some little green miner knocking away on our windows? I clicked out of the window and went to e-mail instead. Ellen Tsosie had written back. I opened it and started reading.
    She thanked me for contacting her and yes, Sage has mentioned that I might be in touch with her. She appreciated my wanting to learn more about Navajo culture and she'd try to give me some "pointers" here, but it would probably be best if I called so here's the number. I stopped reading and opened a small spiral-bound notebook I kept next to my keyboard. I flipped to the page I'd started with regard to "Navajo culture and criminal jurisdiction" and wrote Ellen's number next to her name and e-mail address.
    I turned my attention back to the e-mail and continued reading. Hmm . Most traditional Navajos, though not afraid of dying--it's part of the natural order of things, after all--fear the dead because the spirit of a dead person has the